Beyond the Sea
by filmgeekchic
Summary: See the LOST island through the eyes of the fifteenth member of the 'merry band of adventurers.'
1. Chapter 1

Today I died.

At least, I think I might be dead. Today my flight from Sydney to L.A. crashed in the middle of nowhere and I'm sitting here on this beach, surrounded by plane and...dead bodies. Part of me wonders if I'm dead as well. I look out at the waves crashing on the beach and wonder if this could be heaven.

My peaceful thoughts are interrupted by a woman a few feet away. She can barely breathe she's sobbing so hard as she stares down at her dead husband. I'm suddenly reminded this is anything but heaven. The flickering light from the bonfire some Middle Eastern guy made, casts a glow over her face and the pain that's evident there actually makes my heart hurt. All this death, all this destruction, and yet all this beauty. It's almost too much to bear.

As I write all this, I can barely hold my pen my hands are shaking so hard. It all seems so surreal. It was all so fast, I can barely remember how it all happened.

I was sitting in my seat, 12 H, minding my own business, trying to come up with conversation topics to discuss with my father in L.A. The uncomfortable silences were more bearable when I was prepared. The plane shook and I couldn't help but clutch my seat. The jerk next to me chuckled slightly.

"Don't worry, Darlin'," the jerk that had tried to look down my blouse when I was reaching for my purse under the seat had said. "Just a rumble." He seemed barely phased by the turbulence until the plane really started to shake and began to fall. It was like that feeling you get in your stomach when you drive up and down hills really fast...times a thousand.

I closed my eyes like that would make it all go away. Whatever was about to happen, I didn't want to see. Suddenly, I felt someone's hands on my head. I opened my eyes and realized the guy next to me was sliding that little oxygen thing that falls down right before you're about to die around my head. Our eyes held for a second before all hell broke loose and the back of the plane ripped off. I don't remember if I screamed, not that I would have been able to hear it over the sound of falling hundreds of miles an hour through the air. I never so hated the idea of skydiving than at that moment. Then everything went black.

The first thing that hit me, waking up, was the smell of death. It was everywhere. You wouldn't think death had a smell. Dead bodies, yes, but death itself?

Yet, it practically suffocated me, made me choke on the sudden ragged breath I tried to take as I came too. Opening my eyes, I realized I was still in the plane. People were screaming, practically clawing through each other to get out of the plane, if you could still call it that. As my eyes focused, I realized why.

The bodies of my fellow passengers laid everywhere, staring at me with their blank, accusing eyes. I ripped the oxygen mask off and desperately pulled at my seat belt. It wasn't budging. A wave of nausea passed over me as I realized someone was slumped against the back of my seat, dead. His arm touched mine and I shuttered in revulsion. I pulled at the seat belt more desperately, unable to deal with any of this.

On the verge of hysteria, I called out. "I'm stuck! Please. I can't-," but no one was listening. They were too concerned with escaping this tomb themselves. I felt my chin quiver. I was about to lose it. Suddenly, the guy who had been sitting next to me appeared out of nowhere. He pulled a pocket knife from God knows where and sliced through the seat belt. All I could think was 'How the hell did he get a pocket knife on the plane? They made me give up my tweezers.' And before I could say anything he was gone. With shaky legs, I made my way out of the plane and stepped into chaos.

Everyone was screaming and running and crying out for help. I covered my ears and wanted to run right back into the plane where at least it was quiet. I walked through the wreckage, stepping over limbs and plane parts. It wasn't until I took a long shaky breath that I realized I was sobbing. I sobbed for these people around me, dead and alive, but mostly I sobbed for myself.

Wiping my eyes, I pulled my arm away and saw blood. Touching my face, I winced and realized there was a large cut over my left eye. I barely felt the pain.

A girl's screams broke through my numbness. A young girl, the one that I heard bitching about not being in First class just stood there, screaming and screaming. I suddenly felt the urge to smack her. All these people around, needing help and she was just-...but I wasn't much better, was I? Just standing there feeling sorry for myself.

So I threw myself into it. Lending a hand wherever I could. At one point I was looking for pens. I don't really know what was up with that, but whatever. Before I knew it, it was dusk and I found myself sitting there on the beach, alone.

It's funny. For two years I haven't been able to write a word. Not one word. Yet, just an hour ago I was ripping through luggage, desperate to find paper of any kind. Newspaper, magazine, hell, even that little pamphlet about your seat being a life jacket and help the kids first would do. I almost cried with relief when I found a journal. I tore the first few pages out that had been written on, feeling only a minor amount of guilt. I mean, it wasn't like I read it. Okay, I glanced at it, but it was something about some guy named Marcus. Boring. Besides, right now if I didn't write something down, I would explode.

So here I am, stolen journal and all, sitting around the bonfire with a couple other survivors. All dressed up and no place to go. Occasionally, someone here will break the silence and everyone looks surprised, like they forgot anyone else was around. We're all so wrapped up in our heads it's easy to forget that there's someone sitting right next to you. Right now the only comfort we can get or give it so ourselves.

It's funny how humans can be such selfish creatures sometimes. Maybe it would help if we talked to each other. Then again, maybe it wouldn't.

God, I hope the rescue boats get here soon. Those plane meals that big guy was handing out were not looking appetizing at all. I wonder if-

Okay….weird apocalyptic type noises coming from the jungle. Going to see what the hell is going on.


	2. Chapter 2

Days Stranded on Island: 1

Night

So, not to alarm anyone and not to sound all X-Files-y, but we are so totally not alone. There I was sitting on the beach, pouring my heart out in a cathartic journaling session when all hell broke loose in the jungle.

It all began as a distant rustling of bamboo and leaves, but as it got closer it sounded like hell itself was tearing through the jungle. And then 'it' screamed. A blood curdling sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and scream, "What the FUCK was that!"

It moved with lightening speed, ripping through the dense jungle, shaking the massive trees. I wasn't aware that practically all the survivors were around me until I heard the pregnant girl say, "Did anybody see that?" (Oh my God, can you imagine being pregnant on an island. The heat, the sand. Ugh, I'm so glad I'm not pregnant). We stood together on the beach, trying to see whatever was out there until the noises faded and the night was silent again. The island was calm once more, but my heart was still pounding in my chest.

As people began to settle down on the beach, the night crackled with anxious tension. No one was sleeping anytime soon, especially not me.

I wandered through the wreckage, overhearing snippets of conversations. Everyone had a theory about It. I even heard one guy mention it could have been monkeys. Monkeys! Unless we've landed on the freaking Planet of the Apes, I don't think that 'Gigantor' was a monkey.

I stopped and looked out at the rippling ocean. I found a small bit of serenity listening to the waves lap at the beach. I marveled that somewhere out there life was going on as normal. Here I was at the edge of civilization and somewhere out there someone is buying orange juice like nothing is wrong. I wondered if my father has even been told yet. I'm sure Lila, the Mistress of all that is Evil and Pastel wouldn't shed a tear. Now she won't have to worry about splitting my father's money when he goes.

I suddenly felt someone stop beside me and looked up to see the guy who had been helping that poor man with the shrapnel through his stomach standing next to me. A doctor I heard someone say. He stared out at the water and seemed to be thinking the same thing as I was. "I can't believe the rescue boats aren't here yet," I said conversationally. He gave me a tight smile and looked over at me. "They'll be here," he said in a reassuring, yet forced manner. "Sooner or later." I smirked and said, "Personally, after that little incident in the jungle, I'd prefer sooner." He sighed and nodded. "Yeah, me too."

"So, you're a doctor, right?" I asked, curiously. He nodded. "Spinal surgeon." I smirked and said, "You could be a dermatologist right now and I think everyone would bow down at your feet. Something about those three little letters makes everyone feel a little less like we're all going to die." He laughed and I instantly liked him. I'm such a whore when it comes to people laughing at my jokes. Someone could be a raging lunatic or a serial killer, but if they get my sense of humor, they're alright by me.

"So, I just have to ask, after-" I waved my hand towards the jungle, referring to the thing earlier. "Jurassic Park: Fact or fiction?" He laughed and glanced over at me. "I'm pretty sure it was fiction."

"Sure. Right. I knew that. Just…making sure. 'Cause that was…intense," I said looking back into the jungle. He sighed and frowned, worriedly and suddenly I knew this was the guy, the one to stick with. Even if he wasn't a doctor, I probably wouldn't die around him. He had that 'I'll take care of everything' aura about him. God, I sound like my mother.

"I'm Gwen, by the way," I offered, happy to have someone to connect with right now. "Jack," he replied easily. We talked for a while, standing there on the beach. He told me about the guy with the shrapnel through his chest and some girl named Kate. In the morning, she and Jack were going to find the front of the plane which hopefully held the plane transceiver morning to try and contact…well, anyone. We went our separate ways and I felt a little more at ease, knowing someone was taking a pro-active approach to our castaway status.

Now, I'm back on my little corner of the beach, I guess you could call it. I don't even know what time it is right now. My watch broke in the crash. I suppose I could take a watch off one of the dead bodies, but…that's gross. Is it considered grave robbing if they're not in the ground?

Okay…never in my life did I think I would have to ask that question.

It's funny; I keep finding myself clutching the necklace Aunt Sarah gave me in Sydney. The one mom had given to her before she died 20 years ago, before my life had been ripped apart. The covellite is cold in my hand and the dark stone glints in the moonlight, but for a moment I feel closer to my mother, like she's watching over me.

A loud bird is cawing from the jungle which would usually drive me nuts, but the water is making me sleepy so I'm off to the patch of sand I call a bed. Hopefully, tomorrow I'll be writing from a rescue boat and on my way to a long, hot shower.

P.S. Oh my God, I almost forgot: There's a guy here that looks exactly like that guy from the band Driveshaft. Weird.


	3. Chapter 3

Days on Island: 2

Morning

Still no sign of rescue. What are they waiting for, an engraved invitation? A frigging plane went down! Someone should have noticed! People don't just lose planes…do they?

Even in all this chaos, it's amazing how the human race can still amaze and horrify me. The O.C. reject, who I have now dubbed Princess McBitchy, is out there sunbathing. Sunbathing! Can you believe it?

Just a little while ago I was hauling a suitcase to the pile we started to sort necessities and "accidentally" kick sand on her back. "Do you mind?" She snapped at me. "Gee, sorry to get in the way of your laying around time," I answer with an annoyed tone.

As I walked away, I heard her mutter "Bitch," and I rolled my eyes, trudging on. The guy she was traveling with, her brother, I think, took the suitcase from me. "Sorry about that. Shannon has a special way of dealing with stress," he apologized for his sister. "She accessorizes?" I replied in a chirpy but sarcastic tone. He chuckled and nodded. "Occasionally she primps too. She means well though…I think."

He seems like a good guy. Said his name was Boone. How he got stuck with her I can't figure out. They don't even look alike.

Everyone's a lot more chatty today. I suppose the initial shock is wearing off and people are finally starting to I was talking to the Middle Eastern guy and some jerk that's a high school teacher earlier (I've really got to start remembering names). It's funny how people are already starting to form little cliques. This morning I was sitting around with a few people discussing 'Gigantor of the Jungle,' when we would be rescued, etc. The normal survivor discussion topics, I suppose. Anyway, the big guy arrived and brought up the fuselage AKA the steel tomb of death and despair. He was wondering what we should do about the B-O-D-Y-S. Yes, bodys. Some kid who had been sitting there not paying any attention (or so I thought) and I automatically responded, "B-O-D-I-E-S." We exchanged glances and smiled, both seemingly in on some private joke.

The others seemed to agree something should be done, but Princess McBitchy AKA Shannon started going on how the rescue boats would take care of it when they got here. Hello? I do not want to be looking at the extras from Texas Chainsaw Massacre until rescue gets here. 'Cause they've been taking their good sweet time as it is.

Before we could get into it, Jack arrived and told the others he and Kate were going on some jungle trek to find the plane transceiver. Out of nowhere the British guy/'Driveshaft look alike' volunteered to go along. Well, at least someone is taking some initiative to get us the hell out of here…even if he does look like some rock star from five years ago. I really need to start asking around and find out what his deal is. There's no way he could actually be that guy from Driveshaft. Stuff like that doesn't happen in real life. Oh my God, my friend Emily would totally flip if it was him.


	4. Chapter 4

Days stranded on Island: 2

Midday

This place just keeps getting weirder and weirder. I was just fighting over a bottle of suntan lotion with Shannon (who apparently was sick the day 'share time' was introduce in kindergarten), when suddenly the sky opened up and hell itself was unleashed on us. Day abruptly became night as monsoon rains suddenly appeared with no warning. We all ran for cover each looking for scraps of the plane to hide under. I huddled in a corner under some large piece of the engine. As I watch everyone scurry for cover like ants, one man is out on the beach, not moving. He's sitting there, getting completely soaked, staring up to the sky like he's the next coming or something. Not to be a bitch, 'cause I'm as happy we're alive as the next person, but this guy is freaking me out.

I'm no weather expert, but something tells me this isn't the most normal thing. Or maybe it is. What do I know about tropical weather? Awendaw was just hot and humid, there was too much smog in L.A. to have any real weather, and New York is just…New York. It's either stifling hot or bone chillingly cold. There are about two weeks where it's actually nice.

Crap. My shelter is starting to leak.


	5. Chapter 5

Days on the Island: 2

Afternoon

The rain has let up and I've moved to get a better look at Baldy. I'm wondering what his story is. A self professed prophet with delusions of grandeur or just a Bible beater, thanking God we're alive? Either way something about that guy freaks me out. Who sits in the rain for half an hour with this 'I've come home,' look in his eyes?

I was indulging my favorite pastime (creating lives for the people I watch afar) and was dreaming up Baldy's cultish background and job as a postal worker where he is about to snap when the kid from earlier came up to me.

"What are you doing?" he asked out of the blue, jolting me out of my thoughts about Baldy's seven wives. "Writing in my journal…well it's not really mine I guess," I replied, starting to feel a little bad for stealing someone's journal. He leaned over, trying to see the pages. "What are you writing about?" I glanced at the journal, not really sure what I was doing with it. "Everything, I guess. The plane crash, everything that's happening here," I replied with a shrug. Suddenly, it sounded very boring. No wonder my book flopped. I can't even make a plane crash that I witness first hand sound interesting. The boy just nodded and looked like he was deep in thought. I thought we were done so I smiled and glanced back down at my journal.

"Why?" He suddenly asked, surprising me. "I don't know," I replied honestly, for a moment unsure why I did have this sudden urge to write. "I guess it helps me deal with it. I can get everything off my chest, you know?" He nodded again looking way too introspective for a kid his age. "And who knows, maybe when we get rescued I can sell it and make millions." I joked and he smiled.

He paused for another long moment, looking like he was searching for just the right words. "Can you write in there that I lost my dog? His name's Vincent. Maybe someone will read it and find him." I smiled sympathetically. "Sure. I can do that."

The man I assumed was his dad called to him and he slowly started to walk away. "Hey," he called, pausing and turning towards me again.

"What's your name?"

"Gwen," I called back. "What's yours?"

"Walt," he yelled back. I smiled and waved.

"I'll see you around, Walt." He smiled and ran towards his father.

I watched his dad scold him for running off and felt a wave of sympathy. They didn't look like they had the easiest relationship. Hell, if anyone could understand tense relationships with their father, it was me.

Poor kid. I hope he finds his dog, though I don't know how the hell it would have survived the crash. I'm still in surprised so many of us survived, to be honest.


	6. Chapter 6

Days on Island: 2

Afternoon…still (I really need to find a watch)

Still no sign of rescue…I've decided I'm going to stop updating on that because it's quickly becoming pointless.

Sometimes I really cannot believe men. Crashed on an island, something insanely huge and most likely hungry is running around in the jungle and they're fighting. I couldn't say I was too surprised to see the guy who had been sitting next to me on the plane in the middle of it. He didn't exactly strike me as a pacifist.

From what I can gather he accused the Middle Eastern guy of being a terrorist and blowing up the plane. Okay. Right. Just because the guy is Middle Eastern, he's a terrorist. Narrow-minded hillbilly. Wait…I just heard someone mention he was from Iraq. Well…that doesn't mean anything. Right?

Now, I won't lie. This is totally anti-feminist of me to say and I will deny it in court if asked, but watching guys fighting is not a bad way to pass the time. Like any red-blooded female, I'll watch Fight Club until the cows come home, but this was starting to get bad and Hillbilly totally wasn't fighting fair. Out of nowhere, Jack suddenly appeared and broke it up. To be honest, a small part of me was disappointed. Hey, there's no cable here, we have to find ways to pass the time. I mean, it wasn't like they were going to kill each other. Anyway, there was more male chauvinist bullshit. Threats were made, punches were thrown, handcuffs suddenly appeared (I'm a little fuzzy on that development but more later). It's enough to make a girl swoon. If I cared and this was 1805.

Jack said he, Kate, and the Driveshaft guy found the receiver, but it wasn't working. The Middle Eastern guy, who I think I heard earlier introduce himself as Sayid said he could fix it. Fine. Good. I don't care who fixes the damn thing as long as it means we get off this island.

I am so writing a strongly worded letter to the Coast Guard when this is all over.


	7. Chapter 7

Days on Island: 2 Afternoon

If it weren't for the whole plane crash, being stuck on an island with less and less chance of being rescued, and Gigantor of the Jungle running around out there, this might actually be a nice vacation. I mean, beach, ocean, island…it's Club Med's wet dream.

I'm sitting on the beach, the waves gently massaging my feet. As I stare out at the water I'm almost getting lost in it. It just seems to go on forever. It's silly, but it surprises me how big it is. It reminds me how small and insignificant I am in the grand scheme of things. It's like, 'This is it. This is the end of the world.' Here, time stands still…like nothing exists beyond those dark blue ripples that vanish into the horizon.

It's like we're the last people on Earth. The whole crash was just another one of God's wacky experiments, like Noah or something. 48 people will decide the fate of mankind, a cross section of the population, each chosen to pass a test for humanity.

I wonder what my test would be? Would I even have the courage or faith to pass? Maybe I've already been tested and failed. Maybe this place is my punishment for what I did in my life. God knows, I probably deserve it.

I haven't thought about God, fate, or destiny in 20 years, but this place brings something out in me. Something I thought died with Mom a long time ago.

The wind is strong now and every so often the ocean spray will sting my still tender wounds. I don't mind. The pain reminds me I'm alive.

I just noticed Walt is sitting farther down the beach. Most people are staring out at the ocean, but he's watching the jungle…waiting for his dog. I know his father, Michael, thinks the dog is dead. But, I'm going to hold some hope. Someone besides Walt should believe.


	8. Chapter 8

Days on Island: 2 2:00 PM (I finally took a watch off one of the bodies. I'm so going to hell.)

So another jungle trek is about to commence. This time it seems I'm aboard. Sayid said we can get a signal for the transceiver thing from higher ground and was organizing a party to go. And by organize a party, I mean he was having a discussion about it with Kate, which I and a bunch of other people overheard.

I rock climb once a week at my gym in New York so I offered to go. Hell, I thought it would beat sitting around here listening to people whine and bitch all day. And, of course, as soon as I thought that, Princess McBitchy herself announced she was coming, which didn't please Boone at all. Let her come. Hell, maybe we'll all get lucky and the monster will eat her, though with my luck, Driveshaft lookalike who has been panting after her will try to save her and get us all killed.

Kate and Sayid didn't seem too thrilled by the entourage that they now had to bring with them, but didn't say anything. They're too polite. If it were my expedition I'd be like, "Hell, no, I don't want to drag your whiny ass through the jungle!"

Anyway, I offered to take a backpack of water and supplies along with Kate, basically only so I could sneak my journal along.

My therapist is right. I so have an addictive personality.


	9. Chapter 9

Days on the Island: 2 4 PM

I swear to God I'm going to kill her if she says one more word. For two hours I've listened to Shannon complain about the sand, the heat, the jungle, her feet, anything and everything and I'm going to snap. I don't care if she is Boone's sister I'm going to fucking kill her.

Breathe, Gwen. Just breathe. You will not let the princess get to you…even though she's taken everyone opportunity to sneer and make comments about your hair, wardrobe, etc. You lived 20 years with your stepmother from hell, you can handle this.

As if a jungle safari with Shannon isn't enough, everyone's friendly neighborhood asshole arrived about 15 minutes after we left, storming through like this was all this idea all along. For the past two hours, when he's not insulting everyone, he's been leering at Kate and Shannon, although I'm not totally surprised.

Kate has this whole innocent, 'girl next door' thing going on, yet when you look at her sometimes you catch a look that makes you think there might be something more to her. She's got this weird mysterious complexity that makes you think she's never quite at home. She always seems to be looking for a way out, the quickest escape like she's just about to bolt.

And then there's Shannon. Ms. Perfect Clothes, perfect hair, perfect body. As much as it pains me to admit there might be something more to her than Gucci and Chanel, the more time I spend with her, the more I wonder about her as well. There's this unspoken tension between her and Boone, even in the quiet moments…hell, especially in the quiet moments. Something in the way they look at each other makes me wonder just what their deal is.

So this is what I have to compete with. No wonder I'm always at the back of the group. Mary Ann and Ginger of the island have the boys tripping over themselves to impress them. I guess that makes me Mrs. Howell. Great. Just what I need. A Mrs. Howell complex.

Anyway, we've stopped to rest now. Sawyer and Sayid are arguing, Kate is trying to tell both of them to shut up. Boone and Shannon are arguing. Charlie is trying to flirt with Shannon. Basically it's an argue-fest. Crack team we've assembled here. Even though Sayid said we all need a few moments to rest I know he and Kate think I need time to 'recover' from my traumatic incident….like I'm an invalid or something.

I have to admit, I thought I would be prepared for this little expedition, but this puts my gym to shame. We just scaled what can only be described as a small mountain and I've had my second life threatening event of the week.

Sawyer had already helped Kate up to the ledge; she and Sayid were talking about the transceiver. Boone was yelling at Shannon for freaking out about some bug as I pulled up the rear. I had somehow ended up in the back…again.

I grabbed the ledge and was about to pull myself up when the root I was holding onto suddenly came loose. I could hear Kate gasp and Sayid yell. I remember thinking, "That's nice that they'd be upset that I died. I don't even know them that well," when someone suddenly grabbed my wrist.

I looked up and Sawyer held my gaze with an intense look in his eyes. He was barely hanging on the ledge himself as he strained to pull me up. God, I wasn't that heavy, was I? I then made the mistake of looking down and had a mild panic attack. Scrambling, I found my footing, pushed up and grabbed him, causing us to both go tumbling backwards on the ledge.

I fell on top of Sawyer, though I was too freaked out to really notice. My head was on his chest as I tried to catch my breath. As I began to calm down I realized his heart was pounding really fast. I pulled back and looked at him. We gazed at each other a few moments before Kate and Sayid pulled me up, asking me if I was okay and Shannon began screaming that we were all going to die. I barely heard them as I stared at Sawyer.

As Kate began to speak to him, the spell was broken. His eyes turned cold and mocking and he looked at Kate, who realized he was fine. He smirked at me and I was suddenly filled with the urge to hit him. "So much for our expert rock climber," he commented as he began to walk away.

"Yeah well, the rock walls at the Y don't usually fall apart," I shot back, annoyed for thinking I was having a 'moment' with that jackass. It must have been that condition where people sympathize with their rescuers…or is that kidnappers….?

He laughed and glanced at me over his shoulder with that annoying smirk of his. "Just be careful, Sweetheart, I might not be around next time."

He's such an ass.

We're moving again. Apparently I've recovered enough.

Oh! Kate told me that Charlie (AKA the guy who looks like the guy from Driveshaft) really IS from Driveshaft! This is like some bad TV movie only there are other people on the island with us and Charlie isn't Dean Cain and I'm not Tori Spelling. Thank God.


	10. Chapter 10

Days on Island: 2 7 PM

Well, we've decided to camp for the night. I've always hated camping. Even when Dad took me right after I moved from South Carolina to L.A. We were supposed to have a "bonding" weekend and camp out. I don't really think that you can consider it camping if you hire someone to pitch your tent and you spend the one day you're there on your cell phone before you leave your daughter with Consuelo the maid. Whatever. I learned how to start a fire from scratch and what plants were "no no" plants from her husband Hector. It wasn't a total waste.

Everyone's relatively quiet after the day's events. Sawyer's still got that macho glow from his 'caveman' moment earlier today. What is it about men and the whole hunting and gathering thing? Okay, the whole thing was kind of brave since we all were running for our lives, but still…I want to smack that smirk right off his face.

We had been walking for what seemed like days, getting further and further from the beach. I have to admit, we were probably all thinking the same thing when Sawyer barked for Sayid to try and see if we got a signal from the transceiver. Sayid refused and Sawyer in his infinite tactfulness argued.

Tired of hearing him bitch, I glared at him as I sped up, walking past him (I almost died and I'm still stuck in the back!). "I'm sorry. Where did you get your engineering degree? Jackass University? Why don't we let the guy who actually knows what he's talking about decide."

I noticed Sayid smirked at Sawyer before the two began arguing again. They were about to get all physical again when there was a loud rumble from the jungle. We all froze, each of us thinking the same thing: it was Gigantor come to eat us all.

Suddenly, the something started moving in the distance. It was hidden by the tall grass, but it was big and coming straight for us at an alarming speed. Shannon, cool and calm as ever, started screaming and we all took off. Bringing up the rear, I noticed one of our little party was missing. I paused before I could get more than a few steps and saw Sawyer just staring at the blur streaked right towards him.

I ran back and grabbed his arm. Maybe the guy was in shock or something. "What are you doing!" I screamed. He glanced down at me and pushed me away, urging me to keep running. "Come on!" I yelled again, this time turning to run, since that thing was only a few yards away. Sorry, but being eaten alive was not on the day's agenda for me. I barely got a few feet when I heard a gunshot.

Turning, I saw Sawyer just standing there, suddenly holding a gun. He was crouched, as if he wasn't sure a bullet was going to stop the thing or not. I moved forward, looking from Sawyer to the…bear.

Yes, he shot a bear. As I turned to Sawyer, I couldn't help but notice a look in his eyes, surprised, yet intent. I remember thinking, "He's shot a gun before." I know, I have odd thoughts at traumatic moments, but this was something you could just tell. There was that look of surprised recognition. Before I could say anything the others were back and the angry eyes had returned.

We all stood around the bear like idiots, just staring at it until Kate finally announced it was a polar bear. A polar bear. It sounds insane, polar bear on a tropical island, but there it was. Big? Check. Hairy? Check. White? Definitely a polar bear.

"Poor bear," I suddenly said, watching the thing whine and breath it's last few breaths.

"That 'poor bear' just tried to make you his scratching post, Sunshine," Sawyer said irritably (like he has any other tone).

"Maybe we scared him." I stared at it for another few moments before announcing, "He's kinda cute."

"He'd be cuter mounted on my wall," Sawyer smirked and turned away from the dead polar bear and I felt the childish urge to stick my tongue out at him, but resisted.

Anyway, with the big bad bear taken care of there was suddenly a hoopla over Sawyer's gun. Apparently, he got if off some U.S. Marshall on the plane, Sayid accused him of being the Marshall's prisoner, he accused Sayid of being a terrorist again, blah, blah, blah.

Kate surprised us all by grabbing the gun off Sawyer and Sayid told her how to dismantle it. Guess she wasn't too thrilled over the thought of Sawyer with a gun either. She gave the two pieces of the gun to Sawyer and Sayid, Sawyer acted like an idiot, Kate ignored him. I was boring of the entire thing. "Great. Now that that's finished can we go before we get attacked by a flock of penguins?" I said rolling my eyes at the whole scene. God, did drama just follow these people everywhere?

I wish I could say that was the big event of the day, but a polar bear paled in comparison to what happened when we finally turned on the transceiver (no pun intended).

We had finally reached an acceptable height to get a signal, according to Sayid. Thank God, 'cause if we got any higher I was going to start getting nosebleeds and worrying about the oxygen level.

Anyway, he turned on the transceiver and tried to send a message, but something was interrupting the frequency we were on…or something along those lines. I didn't really get the 'math' of it all. So, what was interrupting our ever so important rescue call? Another rescue call.

That's right. There's someone else on this island.

The French are here.

Why do the bad things always happen to the French first? And then we show up going, "Shit, we should have learned our lesson from the French and none of this would have happened."

It turns out some woman sent a message that Sayid figured out has been on a loop for 16 years. Shannon, Ms. Grace Under Pressure, gave us a vague translation that equated to: "You're all gonna die." The woman said something about being alone, the others being dead because "it" killed them. I can only assume "it" referred to Gigantor. He didn't exactly seem house broken.

So, now it's getting dark and we're all sitting around the fire, saying little. We barely spoke as we started our hike back to the beach too. I guess the thought of spending the rest of our lives on this island makes us not so chatty. I, for one, can't wait to spend the rest of my days on the island of doom. Too bad all the French are dead. I could use the time to learn a second language. I guess I'll just have to try and chat up that Asian couple.


	11. Chapter 11

Days on Island: 2 Late (Too dark to read my 'dead body' watch)

The jungle is quiet in the darkness. I can barely see the page in front of me, the only light coming from the dying embers of the abandoned fire. I watch the other sleep, marveling at how we are all so different. It's funny how fate forces the most unexpected people together. If it weren't for this plane crash I would never have even spoken to any one of these people, let alone trek through the jungle with them.

It's strange. I already feel a sort of kinship with them. We're all each other has for who knows how long. A makeshift family, forced together whether we like it or not. And so far it's mostly 'not.'

Earlier Sayid gave us a demonstration of how and where we crashed. He used a flaming stick as the plane. I was the only person that found that a little amusing. When he was done Sawyer said, "Nice puppet show." I gave a faint snort of laughter. "Puppet show of doom," I muttered and he chuckled. I glanced up at him and he stopped laughing, looking away, annoyed. I glanced around equally irritated for some reason I couldn't explain, but no one was paying attention until Sawyer asked about the French lady's transmission.

Charlie brought up the fact that the others were going to freak when they heard that there was no rescue in sight. After little debate, we all agreed that this should be kept under wraps for now. As much as I would hate to be lied to about this if the situation were reversed, I've read Lord of the Flies. Sayid's right, hope is a dangerous thing to lose.

The wind is picking up again and the fire makes its last attempts at life as small flames flicker from the embers. I'm shivering and there are goose bumps along my arm though it's far from cold, even at night. I find myself clutching my mother's necklace again; it's cool now, though just minutes ago it was painfully hot against my chest. I don't know if it was that or my dream that startled me awake.

My dream…

It's funny. I haven't had nightmares like that since right after Mom died. Even after all this time they have a way of shaking me to the core. Normal kids dream about boogeymen and monsters, my nightmares were never that concrete. I don't know if you'd even call them nightmares. It's not like I ever felt in danger, but there was something about them…something that made them more than dreams that frightened me.

I'd made the mistake of mentioning them to Lila. She had me in therapy and drugged up quicker than you could say Prozac. Not that I completely blamed her…having a seven year old tell you that people whispered to her in her dreams was probably a little…crazy.

Hell, I feel like I'm going half crazy now. I must be in some state of shock over the many traumas I've been through.

I wish Mom was here. She'd know what to do. She was always the calm, rational one who always seemed to know more than she was letting on. She had that way of making you feel like you were safe with her. People didn't come from miles around to have her read their cards, palms, whatever. They came for reassurance. Waiting in our driveway as Mom returned home from the diner, weary and exhausted, but always kind and willing to help.

I remember Mom would never let me sit in on the sessions, but I'd always find some way to eavesdrop…listening to their broken voices, seeing the desperation in their eyes. The worst was when they were in love. Love always has a way of making the most mild mannered people do the most insane things.

Gee, with childhood memories like these it's a wonder my fiancée, Max, said I was emotionally frigid and incapable of any kind of real love so that's why he was screwing the Starbucks girl.

Some psychic you are, Mom. What happened to my 'great' future? That time I asked you what the cards said about me? You just laughed and got that faraway look in your eyes. "Gwennie, I don't need to read a bunch of cards to know what's in store for you. Your life will be filled with love and adventure. All you need to remember is nothing is what it seems, to expect the unexpected, and love with your whole heart."

Well, Mom, I think I've had enough adventure for three lifetimes, so you got one thing right.

God, I'm yelling at my dead mother. Maybe I am crazy.


	12. Chapter 12

Days on the Island of Doom: 3, 12 PM

You know, it's my understanding that islands are supposed to be happy. They're fun, relaxing…people bring you drinks with little umbrellas in them. Last time I read a vacation brochure nowhere did it say that upon setting foot on an island you would have to deal with monsters, dead bodies, and lie to 48 people about their collective fates.

Yet there I was, just minutes ago, standing next to Sayid, comforting some guy named Larry (who was a little too 'hands-y' for my taste), telling him everything would be okay and we'd get the transceiver working. I did not tell him about the French and their message of despair or that everyone on the trek went gun crazy.

God, that stupid gun. Last night, after I finally fell asleep, I woke up to everyone yelling. Boone had the gun in his hand. Both pieces, meaning he took them from both Sayid and Sawyer. Neither one looked too happy about it either.

Everyone was yelling, and demanding the gun, which is really the way to make a nervous guy with a gun hand it over. I finally had enough of it. "Boone," I said calmly, taking a few steps towards him. "Just put the gun down," I tried to reason with him. He meant well. I knew he did. Stealing it just might not be the best way to convince the others.

Finally, someone suggested Kate take the gun, which everyone seemed okay with and everything calmed down. I was just left staring at the sky, unable to sleep (again) and listening to Shannon snore. Deviated septum, my ass.

Anyway, everyone's got 'jobs' now. Gathering electronics for a new transceiver radio, gathering food and water, etc. Sawyer's job apparently is 'collect all the random shit you can and drag it to his little corner of the beach.' What is he going to do with five bottles of sun tan lotion and eight pairs of sunglasses?

Hurley (the big guy) and I have been helping Jack with his patient. I know a little First Aid and…well…the guy had a fairly large piece of metal sticking out of his chest so it's not like I could do anything worse. Anyway, Hurley's entertaining, at least. It's sad, one good pop culture reference and I'm your best friend forever.

I'm watching Shrapnel Man until Jack gets back from his medicine quest. He seems kind of out of it today. Not that he doesn't have a lot on his mind, being the only doctor of 48, but the way he and Hurley keep giving each other looks, they're either having an affair or know a secret.

God, I hope it's a secret.

…I have to find out that secret.

Thank God I learned long ago I can blame my innate nosiness on my job. Thank you, Journalism School.

Things to do today:

Help Sayid organize everyone's 'jobs' (Why the hell did everyone volunteer for food duty? It's a job, not an invitation to gorge yourself on airplane food!)

Figure out a tactful way to tell Larry to stop staring at my boobs.

Make sure someone's rationing water.

Find suntan lotion!

FIGURE OUT JACK AND HURLEY'S SECRET!


	13. Chapter 13

Days on the Island: 3, 3PM

You'd think I'd learn my lesson after 27 years. You'd think I'd know to keep my mouth shut and my nose out of thing. But, no, I still find myself blurting out whatever pops into my head, butting into other people's business, and making a general nuisance of myself. That's what the past four years being nosy for a living will get you.

Though, you have to admit…on a deserted island what else are you going to do? I mean, when you're not running from invisible monsters.

Jack had stopped back to check on Shrapnel Man and raised an amused eyebrow at me as he entered the little tent. Unloading some of the stuff he had found, he looked over at me and shook his head.

"Every time I see you, you've got your nose in that book." He threw me some water, which I deftly caught (Thank you, High School Softball).

"I like books," I replied with an impish smile before taking a drink.

"Is that what you do? Writing?" Jack asked, drinking some water.

"Yup, journalist, guilty as charged. I write for New York magazine….and I wrote a novel." I could feel my face flush. Why the hell had I mentioned my novel?

"Anything I would have read?"

"Not unless you shop in the bargain bin. Huge flop. Now, my editor forgets my name and my publisher doesn't return my calls," I joked, rolling my eyes.

Jack smiled sympathetically (He better start having some serious flaws, 'cause I don't know if I can be friends with someone this…nice) and glanced at Shrapnel Man. "How he is?"

"He's unconscious, right?" I asked before I answered.

"Yeah." Jack gave me a confused look.

"He's starting to smell….and sometimes he moans and swears. It's kinda like watching 'Sopranos' drunk." I shrugged.

Jack grinned and shook his head digging in his backpack. "What are you writing in there anyway?" He tried to glance at the pages of my journal, but I covered them up.

"I'm recording our valiant days of survival for posterity," I said, with mock seriousness.

Jack smiled again.

"Recording all our secrets, you mean."

I pretended to look offended. "Why, Jack, I'm shocked you would suggest such a thing." I studied him for a moment as he checked on Shrapnel Man.

"Besides," I said nonchalantly. "It's not like you have anything to hide, right? I mean, I haven't even asked you what's going on between you and Kate."

Jack smile faded and he paused for the briefest moment. I knew I had said too much. Damn it, why can't I just keep my mouth closed!

By the time he looked back up at me he was smiling and the humor was back in his eyes. "I'm going to check the fuselage for supplies," he said, in that tone that said 'You're crazy and I can't believe I put up with you,' that he used with Hurley and myself. I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Good, he didn't hate me. I gave him an apologetic smile.

"Keep an eye on this stuff. Sayid said Sawyer's been around scavenging anything he can find."

I rolled my eyes at the mention of Sawyer. "Do I have permission to kill him?" I asked in my best 'oh so innocent' voice.

Jack smiled and gathered his things. "Try not to."

"Badly maim then." I nodded seriously. "Gotcha."

Jack just shook his head and waved goodbye over his shoulder.

"Have fun with the dead bodies," I called as he left the tent.

God, I've really got to find out what's going on with him and Kate. Where the hell is Hurley? I can already tell he can't keep his mouth closed about anything.


	14. Chapter 14

Days on the Island: 3, 5PM

You know, I thought my life was filled with drama, but it's nothing compared to what's going on around here lately.

It had started pouring that insane, apocalyptic rain again out of nowhere. I crouched in the doorway of the tent (although, can you really call an open flap a doorway?) and watched everyone run for cover. I suddenly saw my stuff, well...my carry-on and the few things I've claimed as 'my stuff.' I wouldn't have cared, but my only picture of my mother was in my purse, plus there was….well, there were things I had carried too long to lose in some rain.

Shrapnel Man moaned and I glanced at him anxiously. I knew I couldn't just leave him. What if something happened in the two minutes I'd be out there? Jack would never forgive me. Before I could talk myself into making a mad dash for it, Kate appeared.

"How is he?" she asked, drenched.

"Kate," I greeted her, relieved. "Thank God. Look, my stuff's out there. Could you keep an eye on him for a few minutes?"

I was surprised when Kate hesitated. "I'll be right back," I assured her. "Please?"

She seemed to overcome some internal struggled before she smiled and said, "Of course."

"Thanks," I said, totally loving her at that moment.

Just as I was about to step out of the tent she called my name. "Gwen," she said, her voice strangely serious. "Has he-…has he said anything?"

I shook my head. "Not unless you count occasionally yelling, 'fuck.' No, he hasn't said anything to me."

Kate smiled and looked strangely relieved.

"Thanks again," I said before dashing into the rain.

I ran towards my stuff, my hand stupidly over my head, like I could keep out the rain. I saw Walt and Michael through the downpour. Walt waved and grinned. I couldn't help but do the same, knowing I looked like a complete fool.

I hurried back to the tent, but as I got closer, I saw Jack and Kate burst from the tent, arguing. I paused for a second. What was going on? I briefly considered giving them their space, but my curiosity got the better of me and I forged on. As I got closer I could start to make out what they were saying.

"Can't you put him out of his misery?" Kate asked Jack.

Jack paused, looking like he couldn't believe what she was saying. He said something that was too low for me to hear, but as I walked up to them I heard him say clearly, "I am not a murderer."

"Guys?" I interrupted. God, I was such a nosy jerk. "Is everything okay?"

Jack and Kate glanced at me before giving each other long looks. Jack finally shook his head and brushed past Kate, heading back into the tent.

"Don't worry," I yelled over the pouring rain. "Jack will save him." I gave her a reassuring smile and followed Jack into the tent.

Now, Shrapnel Man is yelling and swearing 10 times worse than before. Those pain pills Jack gave him seem to have done a whole lot of nothing. Jack will barely talk to me, only occasionally giving me orders to give him water or find this or that. There was something else that he and Kate were arguing about. As determined as he is to save this man, who, let's face it is knocking on Death's door, something else is eating at him.


	15. Chapter 15

Days on the Island: 3, 7 PM

I hate to say it, but I don't know how much more of this I can take. Jack's barely speaking, when Shrapnel Man isn't bellowing and swearing he's leering at me and calling me 'Sweetheart,' (which is really kind of disturbing), and the others are asking me a million questions ever time I step out of the tent.

I was getting water earlier when Boone approached me and asked how Shrapnel Man was doing.

"He's breathing." I shrugged. A loud scream came from the tent. "Which I suppose is saying a lot right now." Boone and I stared at the tent, both of us probably thinking the same thing. Hell, I think the whole island had to be thinking it. Someone should just put him out of his misery. I had started to bring it up with Jack earlier, but quickly realized he was a 'it isn't over 'till it's over' kind of guy, not that I was too surprised.

"Is there anything I can do?" Boone asked.

I smiled. He was such a nice guy. How the hell did he end up with the Bitch from the Black Lagoon as a sister?

"Thanks, but I think we've got it under control. Jack will save him," I said with more conviction than I felt.

"I once saved a girl from being crushed by a mob at one of my concerts," Charlie said, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. He paused and looked at both of us expectantly. "I was in a band," he explained.

"Yes, Charlie. We know," I replied, annoyed and headed back to the tent.

I've heard him tell five different people he was in a band. Okay, Charlie, we get it. You used to be a rock star. What do you want a freaking medal? This is not living up to my high school fantasy of being stranded on a desert island with a rock star…or Leonardo DiCaprio.

Yeah…I went through a _Titanic_ phase in high school.


	16. Chapter 16

Days on the Island: 3, 9PM

I've been thinking a lot about secrets tonight. How we all have them…and for everyone that has one, someone else is determined to discover it. Secrets consume us, haunting us until we can barely take it anymore. They create bonds and they destroy lives. Secrets can bring us together and tear us apart. They torment us, forcing us into silence, forcing us to keep it all inside until the very knowledge of a secret has poisoned us. For every person that treasures a secret there is someone that wishes they could give it away.

I'm beginning to think this island is filled with more secrets than any of us could imagine. Secrets that could destroy us all.

I was sitting in the tent, watching Jack tend to Shrapnel Man when he started demanding to talk to Kate. Kate. What did he want with Kate? How did he even know her? He started going on about how we shouldn't trust her and she was dangerous. Jack didn't seem shocked by any of this.

"Who's dangerous?" I asked, sitting up, confused.

Jack didn't even look at me, he just asked the guy what she had done.

"What who did? Jack, what's he talking about?" I couldn't stop asking questions, but one look from Jack kept me quiet until he had sent Hurley after Kate and we were alone.

"Jack, what is going on? What does that man have to do with Kate?" He looked a little surprised as the seriousness of my voice. Hey, I wasn't all fun and games.

"Nothing," he replied, clearly not wanting to talk about it, but I wasn't giving up that easily.

"Jack," I said, using my very best 'don't give me "nothing"' voice that I usually reserved for leads that were holding out on me.

"Gwen, it's not my place to tell you." He looked so burdened, as if he carried the secrets of us all.

"Look, I'm a journalist. Snooping is my job. I'm going to find out sooner or later…and if I start asking questions someone else is bound to catch on."

Jack turned to me angrily. "Don't back me into a corner, Gwen," he warned, his voice dangerously calm.

I knew I should back down, let it go, but I couldn't.

"And don't shut me out. I'm not a child. I have a right to know what's going on. You can't-," I faltered for a moment as he looked away. "You can't take all of this on yourself."

Jacks sighed and was silent for a long moment, staring out at the moonlight glinting on the water. He finally looked at me, searching my eyes until he found whatever it was he was looking for. "This stays between us."

"You have my word," I said quietly, knowing this was bigger than anything I had imagined…and I have a pretty active imagination.

Jack handed me a folded piece of paper. "I found this in his jacket pocket. He's a U.S. Marshal."

There on the paper was a photo. A mug shot. Kate's mug shot. At least it looked like Kate. The woman in the picture looked cold and jaded, as if she didn't have anything to live for or anyone to care about. She wasn't the woman I had met here on the island.

I asked Jack what she had done and he said he didn't know.

"Something bad enough to run all the way to Australia…and be followed," he said.

I stared at the mug shot for a long moment before handing it back to him. "All of us are running from something," I said quietly. "Some of us are just more obvious about it."

Jack stared at me for a long moment before making a sound of agreement. He smiled sadly as he started to walk away.

"Why did you tell me?" I called after him before he got too far.

He turned and smiled at him. "Maybe I trust you," he called back as Hurley walked up to him.

Maybe he shouldn't. The last person that trusted me ended up dead.

At least now I know I'm not the only one hiding something…and I'm probably not the last.

Jack and Hurley are talking now. Hurley keeps glancing over at me so I assume Jack told him I know. I think he's just surprised I didn't weasel it out of him first.

I wonder if-…

Was that a gunshot?


	17. Chapter 17

Days on the Island: 3, 10 PM

I take it back. I know I said someone should put him out of his misery, but not like this. This wasn't what I meant. I don't even know how it all happened. One minute things were fine and the next everything was falling apart.

For some reason, Jack was rushing towards the tent when a shot rang out, piercing the night's silence. I scrambled up to see what was going on and saw Kate and Jack staring at each other.

"What happened?" I asked as Sawyer came out of the tent, gun in his hand. My hands flew to my mouth and I heard someone say "Oh, God." Come to think of it, it might have been me since Kate had left…almost like she knew what was going to happen.

Sawyer told Jack he was doing what the Marshal wanted….he was putting him out of his misery. He looked hardened, telling Jack like it was, but at the same time there was something in his eyes. It was almost like he was asking for forgiveness, some kind of understanding from Jack.

Before anyone could say anything noises started coming from the tent. Someone was choking. We all looked at each other in horror for a moment as we realized the Marshal was still alive.

Sawyer had shot the Marshal in the chest, puncturing his lung. Jack said it could take hours to die. He told Sawyer to get out. I took a step towards him, timidly.

"Jack," I said quietly, but he shouted at me to leave. I could feel myself flinch at his tone and left the tent.

I went towards the water, the waves seeming to call me, holding some promise that I could forget what was happening back there. I could forget everything…that all this had ever happened.

Before I could get very far, I heard a noise behind me, a small sound of rage and guilt. I turned and saw Sawyer trying to light his cigarette with shaky hands. He threw the lighter angrily. I really hope he didn't know what he was doing because it was heading straight for my head before I caught it.

I stared at the lighter a moment, wondering if just maybe Sawyer wasn't the heartless, egotistical jerk I thought he was. He might have just done something incredibly stupid, but he had meant well….I think.

Plus, there had been that look on his face when he realized the Marshal wasn't dead. The same look consumed his face now. That look that I had seen once or twice before when he had been reading that piece of paper of his. A look that spoke of something deeper and darker than any of us could imagine.

He wasn't even paying attention as I approached him. He only looked up when he heard the click of his lighter. I held the small flame out to him silently. Sawyer's eyes searched mine for a moment, warily, as if looking for some sign of malice or contempt. Not that I blamed him. I really had never given him a reason to trust me and I wouldn't trust him if the roles were reversed, but after a moment he leaned in and lit his cigarette.

I don't know why, but I stood there next to him watching the smoke curl off his cigarette out of the corner of my eye and listening to the choked groans of the Marshal, both of us silent. Part of me wanted to say something, tell him he only did what he thought was right, but I didn't. Sometimes words can sometimes seem so foreign and awkward, never enough and, yet, more than we can stand.

The noises from the tent suddenly stopped. I held my breath as we both stayed rooted in our spots not turning until we heard the tent rustle. I looked back and saw Jack appear from the tent.

He simply stared at Sawyer for a second or two, his eyes filled with guilt, anger, and most of all, defeat. He had been determined to save the man, though we all knew it was a hopeless cause. Glancing between the two men, I suddenly realized how alike they both were. Each had tried to save a man in his own way…each had failed.

Jack walked away and I stayed where I was, staring out into the dark water. After a minute or two, without saying a word, I turned and left Sawyer there on the beach.

I thought I felt his eyes on me as I walked away, but when I turned to glance back at him his eyes were staring out into the distance, his face almost totally consumed by the shadows.

I don't know how long he stood there in the dark, his eyes telling of demons that had haunted him for too long. A broken man, being consumed by the darkness…with no one left to save him.


	18. Chapter 18

Days on the Island: 4, 11 AM

People always seem to be trying to start over. They try to 'find themselves' by buying a car they wanted as a teenager, by having an affair, or just picking up and leaving their entire life behind…but, the past's a funny thing. No matter how far you run, no matter what you buy to make yourself feel better, it's always there. 'Cause at the end of the day there is no rewind button and there are no 'do overs.' All we have are our memories and the choices we've made.

Yet, when the sun rises and we open our eyes, we have a chance to make it a little better. To take the things we've done, the choices we've made, and learn from them. A new day makes us feel like it might not be so bad…that we might have a chance to start over a little at a time. We wake up and think, 'maybe today will be the day everything will change. Today, the cycle will break.'

I think we all needed to cling to that hope today. It seems strange that spirits are high, that smiles greeted me when I woke up this morning. A man died last night, euthanized by one of our one, there's no sign of rescue, and this island's creep factor grows every day, yet I look around and I can't help but close my eyes, turn my face to the sky and smile.

I'm alive. I'm here.

Today is a new day…and anything can happen. It's a brand new start for all of us…well almost all of us. By the look on Jack and Sawyer's faces this morning, they couldn't forget what happened last night.

When I woke up I saw Jack coming out of the medical tent, looking like he hadn't slept much, if at all. He headed to the edge of the shore, barely seeing the people walking around him, chatting with each other, for the moment not burdened by our predicament. I just watched him for a few minutes before I walked up next to him, but he barely glanced at me.

"Beautiful morning isn't it?" I said quietly.

Jack only smiled bitterly. "I guess." He was silent for a moment before saying, "It seems wrong that anything should be so beautiful after…everything."

"I don't know. Maybe it's like something's telling us that things aren't so bad. That we're going to be okay."

"How can you say that? A man died last night. He was-," Jack broke off, overcome with some emotion. I couldn't tell if it was rage, grief, or guilt. Probably a little bit of all of them.

"You did everything you could," I said softly.

He didn't respond right away, just staring out into the beyond. "Is this what it's going to be like?" He finally said. "Each of us picked off one by one while we wait for a rescue that's 1,000 miles off course?"

"Jack, he wasn't going to make it, no matter how much you did for him. Maybe he just wasn't meant to. You can't take back what happened." I paused, searching his face while he continued to stare at the horizon. "It's not your fault," I said quietly.

"I shouldn't have let her in there alone. I could have stopped him," he muttered.

I laid a hand on his arm. "Shoulda, coulda, woulda. Doesn't make him any less dead and you any more alive."

Jack didn't even manage a smile, only looking mildly surprised that I had been so blunt.

"You have to let go," I whispered.

"How?" he asked, finally looking at me and I wasn't sure we were even talking about the same thing anymore.

The look in his eyes was a look I knew well. I'd already seen it on this island more times than I cared to. It was a look burned into every mirror I looked into…a look of someone who couldn't forgive themself for their past. The Marshal did not put this look into Jack's eyes.

"When I figure that out I'll let you know." I smiled sadly. "They say everyday it gets a little bit better."

"Does it?"

"Yes," I lied.

Some people can't let go. They cling to the past, that one moment that stays with them forever. That pain that they hold close to their heart, almost cherishing it, like it makes them feel more alive. That one moment that will stay with them forever.

But I didn't tell Jack that. Maybe I still have hope…hope that one day the pain will fade just a little bit. One day I'll be able to look into the mirror without seeing her face.

As I looked up at Jack, I realized he was looking past me at Kate, further down the beach talking with Sayid.

"I don't understand her," he muttered.

I was silent for a moment before answering. "Maybe you don't have to. We've all done things we're not proud of," I paused, realizing, for the first time, what this place might be: Our salvation…our chance to let go…the ultimate opportunity to start over. Maybe even a chance to forgive ourselves.

"Why punish her for a past that doesn't exist here?" I said, looking at the sand, trying to make sense of what I was saying. "Maybe this is our chance start over." Maybe it didn't have to just be a hope anymore.

Jack stared out into the water. "Yeah…maybe," he said. He took a deep breath and I knew he had made up his mind. I doubt I had much to do with it, Jack doesn't seem like a 'give me some advice' guy, but I keep offering it anyway. I think it makes me feel better than it helps me.

Jack walked away and I was left alone, lost in my thoughts, but it only took me a second to feel his eyes on me.

"Nice speech, Sunshine. Too bad you just pushed the good doctor right into her arms." I glanced at him, giving him a look of annoyed confusion. Why should I care what Jack and Kate do? He stood next to me, smoking his cigarette, apparently having properly dealt with last night now.

"What do you want, Sawyer?" I asked, not in the mood for him right now.

"Nothin'. Just wondered how you got to be the noblest of them all."

"I'm not noble," I muttered, staring at the waves.

He only chuckled and shook his head. "Whatever you say, Kitten."

When he was gone I smiled. Maybe I could be noble. Maybe I had already started over and didn't even realize it.

I don't know if-…

Is that a dog barking?


End file.
